


(i wasn't) there for you

by cakecakecake



Category: Hey Arnold!
Genre: Divorce, Dysfunctional Family, Future Fic, Gen, Growing Up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-24
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25490401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakecakecake/pseuds/cakecakecake
Summary: "your mother and i are getting divorced."he might as well have told her it was raining, or that miriam hadn't cooked again. "oh."
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	(i wasn't) there for you

"Your mother and I are getting divorced."

Helga shuts the refrigerator and stares at him from under droopy lids. He might as well have told her it was raining, or that Miriam hadn't cooked again. "Oh."

She turns away, rummaging to find cup-o'-noodles or something else in the cabinet, and Bob Pataki slaps a hand on the marble counter-top. " _'Oh?'_ That's all you're gonna say about it?"

"Is it better than 'finally,' or...?" she replies dryly, arching an eyebrow. He grunts with exaggeration. 

"Really, kid? This is the hardest thing I've ever had to tell you, and you're taking it like, like..."

"It's not exactly a surprise, Bob," she tells him evenly, popping the styrofoam cup in the microwave. "You guys have been sleeping in different rooms since we moved here."

Her father groans, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair (what was left of it), looking her over with tired eyes. The microwave beeps but she doesn't grab the cup, just stares back at him with her arms folded. Frowning up at him the same way she had since before he could probably remember. 

"Okay, look, I...I don't need to tell you that I haven't been the best father..."

Helga snorts, rolling her eyes as she finally decides to open the microwave and Bob's face is ready to crumble. 

"I know it! Look, I know -- listen, kid, I -- _look_ at me when I'm talkin' to ya, will ya?"

She looks. She frowns harder. The wrinkles on his forehead groove so deeply into his skin now. The circles under his eyes are even worse. It registers to her that he's looked like this for a while now and she doesn't want to admit that it bothers her, if only just a little bit -- 

"I used to think because I wasn't beating the shit out of you that I was doing great," he says, awkwardly, with a crooked grin. Helga feels herself smiling ironically. "But I wasn't. And I tried to blame it on the business, on the alcohol, on my marriage..."

The noodles were steaming, but Helga hadn't even picked up a fork. She thinks instead of how this must be the longest she's looked her father in the face in years.

"I have nobody to blame but myself, and it's too late for me to do anything about it," Bob says dejectedly, wringing his hands. "Your mom's no star either, but..."

Helga's gaze drops to his hands. 

"So we talked about it, and we wanted to give you the choice," he goes on, straining. "You're what, sixteen, seventeen?”

" _Eighteen_ , Dad," she drawls. She tries to resist making him feel worse with a groan, but he covers his face with his palm anyway.

"God.”

"Dad..."

"Listen, your mom's looking for a two-bedroom," he tells her, "since, well...if you weren't surprised, I'm guessing you probably thought about going with her, wherever she ends up."

Helga's nostrils flared. He wasn't wrong, exactly; Miriam had always been the lesser of two evils, with no better way to put it, but he didn't have to go ahead and just _assume_ everything -- 

"But if by some snowball's chance in Hell, you'd wanna stay with me," he says almost hopefully and she softens, just slightly, "I'm staying here. Olga's moving in within a few weeks. Says I need the emotional support."

"She didn't think Mom needed it?" Helga fumes.

"She thought you'd go with her," Bob admits. 

"Wow!" Helga yells, discarding any restraint to keep even-tempered, "great job giving me a choice when you already made up my mind for me!”

"You can do whatever you want to," Bob reminds her, lowering his voice rather than raising it to match hers, and she furrows her brow, scoffing. "Your mom's not expecting you to go with her any more than I'm expecting you to stay with me -- we just both accommodated for you. Olga made her own choice, too."

Helga groans into her palms, hating that her father looked like he was going to cry, hating even more that this was making _her_ want to cry. She leans her elbows onto the counter and breathes over her cooling noodles, watching Big Bob look back at her like this was the last time he would get to. 

"Helga."

Her eyes snap up to his -- she can't remember the last time he called her by the right name.

"Dad," she starts, voice softer than intended, unsure. She could reward his honesty with her own, but. When she looks at the redness of his eyes, she decides against it. She's waited years to let him have it, but now wasn't the time, she thinks. "I don't know. I don't know yet."

"That's fine," he tells her, slowly getting up off the bar stool. "You got a couple weeks yet. Hell, you can have a room here and one with Miriam -- you can do both. Or neither, even, you're eighteen. Whatever you wanna do, nobody can stop you. Just..."

He walks over to her and she goes stiff, staring uncertainly up at him as he warily, timidly wraps his arms around her shoulders, his big hand cradling the back of her head. Hot, bubbling tears form in the corners of her eyes and she's beyond grateful that he can't see them.

"Whatever you do, your mom and I wanna be there for you. We're gonna be there for you."


End file.
